


Staring at the Sun

by WizardSandwich



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Secret Admirer, Secret Solenoid, Secret Solenoid 2019/2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22066612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Someone's been leaving secret admirer gifts for Rodimus... and he really wishes he knew who it was.Secret Solenoid gift for Alyonian (on Tumblr)!
Relationships: Rodimus/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	Staring at the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withersake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withersake/gifts).



The first gift comes sometime after the Lost Light shoots itself into interdimensional space (or whatever Brainstorm and Perceptor were calling it). The highgrade is impersonal and Rodimus expects it to be a one off. He thinks it must be an apology from one of the mutineers.

The next gift proves him distasterously wrong. Arriving only days after the first, this time there’s a badge that’s almost a mimicry of his Rodimus Stars except in all the ways it’s not. It’s a gorgeous thing, shaped to resemble a spark and haphazardly carved. Its face is etched with something that he thinks is supposed to say “beloved” in the local dialect of Nyon.

It brings tears to his optics. Drift just shakes his helm when Rodimus asks about it. It’s clear he knows who would make such a… touching and special gift.

The third, fourth, and fifth gifts are all similar in that he still doesn’t know who’s giving them. With all of the adventures that arise in this new universe, he doesn’t even have time to figure it out. But they’re all things Rodimus likes or wants or needs. Art supplies, a new datapad, another metalworking. Once, on a bad day, he even gets a datapad littered with encouragement. On another he gets a poem. Nothing spectacular, but sweet nonetheless.

They’re kind. They make Rodimus smile.

There’s a shift in the next gift, though. Rather than one, he gets two. There’s another poem, sweeter and more refined but similar to the last. Yet again, it makes him warm and happy when he reads it. Then there is a set of paints in colors Rodimus hasn’t been able to use in a long time—he hasn’t been able to use paint in a long time, reduced to carving prophetic maps into his desk. The paints are pretty and vibrant and somewhat obviously homemade.

He uses them to paint a mural in the hallway. It’s bright and colorful—a rendition of Nyon that most of the mechs on the Lost Light had never gotten to see. He doesn’t question how his admirer knows he painted when Drift gives him a knowing look.

The next gifts are less personal but sweet nonetheless. And Rodimus gets fed up. He hates guessing games, the not knowing who calls him _the sun and the moon and the stars themselves._ He hates that he doesn’t know what bot looks at him and sees _a lover and a fighter and a healer._ He doesn’t know the bot who can somehow look at him as if he’s one of the best mechs they’ve ever met.

The frustration comes to head on the bridge. The rest of the crew are long accustomed to seeing gifts for Rodimus there, just like they’re long accustomed to Rodimus looking around as if he could figure out who put them there.

This particular gift sits on the captain’s chair. Megatron is off-shift or else he might have made a passing comment about it. Nothing unkind, just curious but all too knowing. Megatron and every other bot seemed to know the identity of Rodimus’ admirer, while Rodimus himself knows nothing.

Rodimus turns out of the bridge and leaves the gift unopened. It’s childish of him, even he knows that, but he feels like he deserves it. He’s asked and asked and no one will tell him up from down. No one will tell him what everyone else already knows. It’s frustrating in the kind of way that secrets and cryptic words are. That is so say: highly.

It’s sort of easy to ignore the gifts after that. Rodimus has always been too stubborn for his own good. The ones that come after are left in their places until they are gone.

Suprisingly, Ratchet seeks him out. “I’m surprised you didn’t get fed up earlier,” he says and his tone is understanding, if anything. “I know I would’ve had a fit about it sooner that you did.”

“I take it you know who it is too?” Rodimus asks, not quite accusing.

Ratchet nods. “I told him he shouldn’t have been so secretive about it. Or that he should’ve told you sooner than later but I guess he wasn’t sure. That’d you’d want it to be him, at the very least.”

Ratchet gives Rodimus the look that Rodimus knows means he thinks some bots are idiots. Rodimus, for all the look is used on him, often can’t disagree with it.

“It was nice, at first,” Rodimus says. “But then it got kind of… hard, I guess? I don’t like not knowing _this_ and it just kind of—” Rodimus falters, toes the ground with the tip of his pede. “—you know? I don’t know, I probably fragged him off, didn’t I?”

“Oh no,” Ratchet shakes his helm. “If anything, you’ve taught him a valuable lesson about reading his partner’s emotions better and knowing when they’re genuinely upset. He’s trying, but he’ll know better in the future, I’m sure.”

Rodimus gives him a half-sparked nod. “Can I know the secret now then?” he asks. Maybe it’s a selfish question but he wants to know.

“Oh, yeah. I was sent to tell you to report to the oil reservoir. Drift wanted to do it… but, well, this was a situation that I was better prepared to handle. You’re more likely to listen to me because you know I mean it.” And Ratchet isn’t wrong in that statement. Rodimus always knows that Ratchet means it. He has never sugarcoated anything for Rodimus’ piece of mind.

The oil reservoir is completely devoid of any off-shift mechs who might have wanted to relax there. It almost makes Rodimus think that Ratchet is wrong before his optics catch on a shoddy imitation of an Earth picnic. A sheet of mesh sits with energon cubes and pretty electric lanterns on top of it.

“Rodimus—” Ultra Magnus’ voice is recognizable as soon as Rodimus hears it. He quickly turns to face him. Ultra Magnus falls silent and looks so awkward standing there, almost as if he isn’t quite sure what he wants to say.

Rodimus himself isn’t sure what to say. Part of him had hoped it would be Magnus, but somehow he hadn’t really expected him. They’re both silent for another moment before Rodimus breaks the more-than-awkward tension.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” he says. He hopes his tone conveys his apology, because he’s not sure he can find the right words.

“You weren’t wrong to react the way you did,” Ultra Magnus says gently, softly. “You had every right. I should have realized—”

Rodimus shrugs and interrupts him. “It still wasn’t the best reaction.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry, Mags.”

Rodimus kneads his lower lip between his denta as he watches Magnus. Ultra Magnus’ expression is unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Rodimus,” Magnus finally says, as the expression bleeds into fondness. “You’ve never had to.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Rodimus informs.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” Ultra Magnus asks a bit awkwardly. He gestures toward the mesh. It’s now that Rodimus realizes that it’s just big enough for the two of them to sit on. And Rodimus follows the request.

“Come on, Mags,” Rodimus says when Ultra Magnus doesn’t follow.

Magnus clambers over himself trying to get to Rodimus side. It’s mostly because of the awkwardness, because of the tension, Rodimus knows but it’s endearing nonetheless. It makes his smile.

“So, poetry?” Rodimus asks. It’s a somewhat bad attempt at starting a comfortable conversation, but he can only hope it works.

“Well, yes—Megatron helped,” Magnus explains. “After my first attempt at gifting you some, I realized I should probably talk to someone who knew a bit more. He helped me with my metalworking too.”

It explains the improvement in both areas, the subtle changes to something more refined. And it’s sweet that Ultra Magnus would do something like that, that he would go to Megatron to make a gift for Rodimus. It makes a lump form in Rodimus throat and his spark warm. He wants to curl up and hide for the next three hundred years or so.

“Rodimus?” Magnus asks, when he doesn’t say a word. He sounds so unsure.

Rodimus pulls together his words, “I don’t—How am I supposed to—” He exvents. “You’re so slagging sweet, Mags. What am I supposed to do with that?”

A tentative smile colors Magnus’ expression. “Well, I think Swerve would call it letting me ‘wine and dine’ you.”

Rodimus grins and laughter bubbles from his throat. “Alright,” he agrees and Magnus’ face somehow manages to light up even more. His expression is something Rodimus wants to call pure joy.

“Now, get over here, big guy?” And maybe Rodimus himself sounds a bit unsure, but Magnus scoots even closer to him, close enough so that Rodimus can rest his helm against his arm. Magnus takes Rodimus’ servo in his own after a moment. It feels a bit like perfection.


End file.
